


How Close the Divide

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rimming, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-02
Updated: 2007-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Healers can be their own worst enemies— Ron is, but Draco steps up to the challenge. On top of that, despite their bond, when it comes to family, Ron can't leave well enough alone. Has he pushed things too far with Draco and Xavier? The sixth full-length installment in theMagic Immunityseries.





	How Close the Divide

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Undying gratitude to my betas: honor74, llembas, wolfiekins and callum. Thank you for helping me fix the nubs and snagged threads in the weave of my stories.  


* * *

The feeling was there again. It was an incessant, pulsing notice that something was not at all right, deep within himself. Ron decided to pass it off as irrelevant, despite being a Healer. What frightened him the most was that he knew instinctively on a base level that things were terribly, perhaps irreparably wrong.

Ron tried to rationalize it; a pinched nerve, or the fact that no matter what Draco said, their bed was lumpy. He'd tried sleeping in the corner, his long legs strewn catty-cornered to the mattress, clutching Draco to him. But he still woke up each day with an unrepentant, dull ache to the left of his spine. He believed, somehow, that he'd caused it. Too much firewhiskey, too many cigarettes, too much fighting, too many suppressed emotions, too much…

… too much life.

Or maybe it was far simpler than that, and he'd taken too many hexes at Harry's side during the War, and the Dark Magic effects were only now showing up. In which case he should really get himself checked out, but instead he let his maudlin thoughts hold sway.

"So. Are we still on for dinner at Michelangelo's?" Draco asked, peering blearily over his morning coffee. Ron knew that Draco hated mornings more than anything else in life.

"I reckon," Ron replied. "What time?"

"Six."

"I'll be there."

Later in the morning, once Draco was ensconced in his self-designed kitchen, Ron made sure Xavier was properly dressed and his morning ablutions taken care of to Ron's satisfaction. They flew together on Draco's Skyrunner to Xavier's school, a pre-Hogwarts wizarding institution that Draco had known about, but not attended. Given the lack of money in Ron's family, he'd not had any official schooling prior to Hogwarts, though unofficially he'd been more than well prepared. Once on the ground, Xavier tilted his head and scratched the side of his neck.

"I know you're not well," Xavier said as authoritatively as he could, given that he was nine and a half. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Not ready to talk about it yet," Ron answered, adjusting Xavier's jumper. "Think that there's something wrong with me, though. I'm planning to talk to someone on the staff today. Nothing you should worry about."

Xavier looked pointedly at him, shoving his hands into his pockets, scuffing his shoes against the cement. "You're lying."

Ron took a deep breath, feeling tiny pinpricks of pain almost inside his back ribs, near his lungs now. He pretended the tiny daggers of _wrong_ hadn't happened; it was the easiest way. Ron had become superb at denial.

"I wouldn't do that to you. You're everything to me. You and Draco."

Xavier fidgeted, apparently willing himself to believe what his surrogate father told him. "Good. No-one else is allowed to leave me, not all of a sudden like dad and mum did. I want some kind of warning."

"I'm not going anywhere. Well, I mean, I have to go to work," Ron hedged, bending down to enfold Xavier in a hug. "George and Remus will pick you up after school; Draco and I are having dinner together. It's our anniversary, as you know."

"Okay," Xavier mumbled into Ron's peacoat. He let go of Ron, shuffling backward and giving him a hard glare. "See you when you get home." He turned, adjusting his satchel over his shoulder while Ron stood up.

A deep, slowly throbbing continued _wrong_ ness pulsed with Ron's heartbeat, settling both in his pelvis and where he'd have wings, were he some kind of freakish, freckled angel. He continued to ignore it. He'd ask Hyacinth to do an auralic on him today… maybe. She'd let him know what was going on in his own body, even though Ron had a horrifying dread of whatever it was.

Surely he could be healed, as nearly everyone was. If only he didn't know he was kidding himself, and whatever the source of the pain, it would be the death of him. It was more than ironic; he was a Healer, yet he'd resolutely not sought out someone else to confirm what Ron believed to be true. No Healer could do an accurate assessment of him or herself. While one could have a sense of whether or not things were normal, or, in Ron's case, pretty fucking scary, no Healer could actually perform a self-auralic. Ambric energy was tricky that way. Ron knew innately that things within himself were frightfully damaged; he was more than aware of the topological suffusion of the magic which thrummed quietly within him. Ron simply knew he was screwed. He also couldn't bring himself to know exactly how much damage had been done, some of it willfully.

The truth was, he was too scared to know.

* * * * *

"You're a bit preoccupied," Draco said before eating a twirled forkful of fettuccine alfredo with indecent relish. "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Ron lied, more than happy to ignore the near-constant twinging in his upper back, and delving into his quite excellent baked manicotti. "Just enjoying the food."

Draco pursed his lips as he chewed, but let Ron's comment pass. They spent the remainder of their anniversary dinner engaged in amicable, familiar territory, conversation-wise; Ron's employment woes in that he'd been saddled with not two but three interns, and Draco's unnecessary worrying about whether or not he had enough customers for the catering he had planned for the upcoming holiday season.

"Of course you do," Ron insisted, thinking back to the myriad owls they'd received on Draco's behalf, all for weddings. Weddings paid well, Ron had discovered. At least they did for Draco, whose cakes were now being featured in _Rita Skeeter's Living_ , a new magazine that catered to the well-off in the Wizarding world. They quite often sought out Draco, who was more than happy to oblige.

"Ron. What's going on?" Draco demanded, elbows jabbing against the table covering as he scowled at him. That he was simultaneously rubbing his shoe against Ron's ankle almost made Ron smile. "Something's off, I know it. And don't you dare lie to me."

Ron glanced over at Draco's bowl of pasta and sauce, the creamy, ivory mess congealing onto the thick strips. "I'm not right," Ron said at last, hesitantly. He didn't want to articulate it, especially since he couldn't back it up with anything authoritative from the St. Mungo's staff. He'd not seen Hyacinth, or anyone. He'd merely gone through his day as always, ignoring the omnipresent dull pain and pretending it wasn't there. "I just know that there's something wrong with me. Physically." He jabbed at the meal in front of him. "And that I don't think there's anything that anyone can do. In fact, I'm really afraid they can't," he said bitterly before dropping his fork with a clatter and draining his glass of wine. He could barely bring his gaze to meet his bondmate's, but he did it regardless.

Draco looked back, his expression both calculating and exceedingly angry. "Whatever it is, deal with it, Ron," he growled, snaking an arm out to grasp Ron at the wrist. "I love you, but why haven't you fucking told someone?"

Ron practically felt the anger emanating from his partner, though all he could do was shrug in response to the question.

"Tell me what to do. You know I'm a bottomless pit of money; I'll get whatever research needs to be done. But you've got to _talk to me_."

All Ron could do was sit, mute. This was the best relationship he'd ever had, and he'd betrayed both Draco and himself by allowing fear to rule him.

"Just don't fucking go where I can't follow, dammit!" Draco said in a low voice. "Because I'm Draco Fucking Malfoy and it took me forever to get together with you and by fucking Merlin you're not leaving. Not now. Not when we actually have things figured out. You're a Healer—it couldn't be easier for you to get an honest assessment and find out what you need to do. Surely it's something they can take care of."

Ron reeled in his chair, letting Draco's profanity wash over him, and sensing the gentle, but ever-present wrong continue to undulate in him. What on Merlin's green earth could he do? He'd waited too long; Ron was frantic about what could happen, sooner rather than later, though he was rather unaware down what kind of path his misery would choose to meander. He was a Healer, for Hades' sake. He could recognise a terminal diagnosis at a stone's throw, though thankfully he'd not had many cases like that during his tenure. He simply never suspected that he'd be self-diagnosing. Out of the blue, he heard Harry's voice telling him that he was the bravest person he'd ever known, but the memory only made him more despondent. "I don't know how long I have." Ron sagged against the faux leather and waving at the server for another glass of wine. "And the truth is, I'm not sure how long I want to be around. But I do love you," he said, shaking his head. "It's not like that. I dunno why you don't seem like enough. Or Xave."

"Shut up and forget the wine," Draco snarled, leaving several Galleons on the table to pay for their meal. "Just. Shut. Up. I'm going to fucking be enough for you, whether you like it or not. We're side-along Apparating to St. Mungo's. NOW."

Ron began to protest until he realised there wasn't anything to be done.

"Will you stay with me, if I'm kept in hospital?" he begged, not recognising it for the neediness it was until the traitorous words had escaped him.

"You couldn't get rid of me even if you tried, you idiot martyr," Draco promised, pushing Ron ahead of him as they left the restaurant. "At least until I kill you for not taking care of yourself. I can't believe you've not been evaluated before now. How long have you been having these feelings?"

"Several weeks," Ron admitted. "I have a regular appointment scheduled; just figured I'd wait."

Once out in the alley, Draco jerked Ron to him, fingers gripping so tightly above Ron's hips that Ron thought he'd bruise. Ron allowed himself to sag into Draco as they left with the distinctive _crack!_ Of Apparition.

* * * * *

The resolute tapping woke Ron up.

He could've recognised the tinny heel-tapping from a thousand paces, but currently it was far nearer. Hyacinth's olive-coloured eyes stared resolutely at him.

"Ronald."

Ron wanted to speak, but he had to clear his throat first.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley."

"Present," Ron coughed. "Where's Draco?"

"Your bed isn't that large," Hyacinth deadpanned. "Surely you can find him."

There was a discontented grumbling as Draco woke up, apparently as ill at ease as Ron was.

"C'mere," Draco growled, holding Ron's hand to his chest.

Ron plastered himself against Draco's frame, and allowed himself several deep breaths. His life was still fucked up, but Draco was still there. There was Xavier, too; Ron had to do right by him.

"You, and Xave," Ron said softly. "Severus, too. Need to fight this."

"Good," Draco said savagely, turning Ron toward him and holding Ron in a crushing embrace. "So we've established that you can't leave yet. I'm selfish, I'm worried, I'm your partner and I don't want to live alone. Don't you dare leave me, you ungrateful, self-centered, just… don't," he murmured, rubbing his forehead against Ron's.

"Won't," Ron replied.

"Do you mean it?"

Ron felt the _wrong_ ness and waffled.

"I want to," he said honestly. "Hyacinth? What in Hades is this? Is it curse-related? Or some late-festering hex or something from a few years ago? What in bloody hell is it?"

She looked down at her clipboard, pencil cradled elegantly across her forefinger. "We don't know."

"What do you mean YOU DON'T KNOW?" Ron raged. "I know I should've been in here sooner, but we're Healers! We can cure nearly everything!"

"We don't know, which just means that there's still plenty of options left to explore." Her tone was such that Ron suspected it was meant to be reassuring. "You're one of us. Surely you know we've got everybody on it, and then some. We've done the usual tests, and we simply don't have a definitive answer."

"So find one," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"May I have a pain potion, please?" Ron asked petulantly. "With a sleeping agent?"

"Of course," Hyacinth said gently. "Mr. Malfoy?"

"Once Ron is asleep I'm going to take a copy of his chart and consult with people outside of St. Mungo's. And you're going to make damn sure that whomever is currently monitoring Ron has my two-way mirror and uses it if anything changes. Anything at all. "

"That's highly irregular," Hyacinth said, brows furrowing and her lips downturned. "We do have such things as patient privacy."

"And I have such things as Healing experts in France," Draco seethed. "Ron is my lifemate. I deserve to go as far and wide with my resources as I'm able because I can, and I want him to be well as soon as possible. We fuck each other and sometimes bathe each other and take pisses in front of each other and sleep together at night. I don't think privacy is at all an issue here."

"Draco," Ron moaned, feeling a flush of embarrassment creep inexorably up his neck despite his compromised condition. "Don't. Hyacinth, I give you permission to give Draco anything he wants out of my records."

"As you wish. I'll just go get the potion. Won't be a minute," she promised, turning and striding quickly out of the door.

"Did you have to say that?" Ron asked, burrowing deeper into the sheets and gently rubbing his nose against Draco's downy chest hair. "I mean, they know we're together. You didn't have to be so… descriptive."

"Yes I did," Draco said, his voice far more tender than before. "I won't have them keeping things about you from me. I know wizarding law doesn't observe handfastings the same way as marriages, but I don't give a porlock's prick. Ah. Hyacinth's back."

Ron gingerly sat up and took the potion before sinking back against his pillow. "Thanks. You're brilliant."

"I know I am," she said tartly, though she soothed the comment by brushing her long, cool fingers through Ron's fringe after she took back the phial. "Between us and whomever it is that Mr. Malfoy—"

"Draco," he interrupted in a threatening voice.

"Whomever Draco knows," Hyacinth continued, "we'll figure this out. You're truly not at death's door. Just sleep for a while. I'll be back to check up on you regularly."

"Thanks. Really."

"You're welcome."

Ron sagged into the warmth of blankets and Draco's arms and was soon dragged into sleep.

* * * * *

There was something different when Ron awoke. He felt—loads better. Opening his eyes, he glanced down to the end of his bed where his chart hovered above the edge of the bedframe. With tremendous difficulty and struggle, he arduously summoned it to himself, exhausting himself in the process. He began looking through the tests and potions regimens. Maybe they'd found some kind of cure while he'd been comatose.

"I've been bloody infused with what?!" he exclaimed after getting two-thirds the way down the page.

"Some of George's ambric energy," Draco drawled to his left.

Ron jerked his head to see Draco sitting with his feet propped on Ron's bed, the _Daily Prophet_ in his lap, evidently doing the crossword.

"But, but, that's…" Ron said, flustered.

"Somewhat unorthodox healing, or so they tell me. Not as thoroughly tested as some, but I thought it was worth the risk to keep you from getting worse." There was a challenge in Draco's gaze, and Ron opted to back down. "You needed an infusion to make sure you didn't get any weaker. The person with the closest pattern to yours was George. Rest assured he was about as excited about that prospect as I was."

"No shite," George's familiar baritone came from the doorframe.

Ron turned to see his brother amble in, Remus not far behind him.

"Not exactly a painless procedure either. You're lucky Remus talked me into it," George said, his comment earning him a swat on the shoulder from his bondmate.

"You volunteered, George, and you know it," Remus said before pulling a chair up to Ron's bedside. He shook his head, his silvery hair resting at his shoulders. "Sorry for the surprise visit, Ron, but we wanted to check in on you. How are you feeling?"

"Fair sight better than before, that's for sure. Thanks, George. I'm sure you had to think long and hard before doing this."

George shrugged, feigning nonchalance as he engorged a set of small red balls and began juggling them. "Somebody had to do it. Or maybe Malfoy blackmailed me."

Draco merely arched an eyebrow in response.

"What procedure did you use?" Ron asked, sitting up and adjusting his bedcoverings in his lap.

"They used a yew sap paste-based calefacient to maximize what's remaining of your decaying ambric energy, then Healer Stormcrow—"

"My ambric energy is DECAYING?" Ron yelled, interrupting Remus' explanation. "Why didn't I read the words _ambrus arresto_ on my chart? REPEATEDLY?!" Ron's chest heaved in anger and fear as he glared at Remus.

"They've cast it several times," Draco said, dropping his feet to the floor and scooting his chair closer to the bed. "It doesn't seem to work like it's supposed to. I've learned a fair bit over the past forty-eight hours, but I must admit that much of the underlying magic I find baffling."

"For what it's worth, Stormcrow seems to think he can stop it before you lose all of your magic," George said jauntily.

"You're so reassuring," Ron said, his words soaked in sarcasm.

"Anytime, little bro."

"George," Remus warned, turning to look up him.

"What?" George feigned insult. "The only reason he's not a squib already is that he's got some of my astonishingly powerful magic in him."

Draco snorted and put his hand up on the bedcoverings, taking Ron's hand. "As soon as he's better I'm going to demand an exorcism."

"Ah. Weasley. So glad to see that you're up. Having a family reunion?" Healer Theodore Stormcrow posed in the doorway, a lime-coloured file folder tucked under his arm.

"Unfortunately," Ron muttered.

The Healer strode in, his auburn hair clipped close to his head and a smirk on his face. "Well, I have some good news for you."

"Brilliant. I'm ready not to feel like shite, be healed of whatever in Hades this is and get back home," Ron said, squeezing Draco's hand.

"Sorry mate, but it won't be quite that hasty," Stormcrow said snidely. "Don't wish to break up the party, but if I could have access to my patient, alone, I'd really appreciate it."

Ron had never much liked this particular Healer, even though his reputation for figuring out and curing baffling illnesses that weren't obviously hex- or curse-based was renown throughout the Healing community. Stormcrow was also arrogant, had bedside manners that had earned him two reprimands from their Head of Hospital, Vrain Frogmorton, and outside of St. Mungo's was outspoken about his disgust for shirt-lifters. Looking into the young man's face, Ron almost wished that there wasn't a cure if he was going to have to be dealing one on one with such a prick, albeit an exceedingly talented one.

"George and I will just be off," Remus said, standing and replacing his chair to its original spot against the wall.

"Sure you don't need me for anything?" George asked Theodore, reducing his juggling balls and pocketing them into his leather trench coat. "Bit more ambric energy? Fade-Away Frock for the missus?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Draco said menacingly as the Healer's smile turned absolutely mutinous.

"Ambric energy isn't like a memory that I can simply dump into a pensieve," Stormcrow retorted to George. "And not that it's any business of yours, but there is no missus. I suspect, however, that my girlfriend, a three-time featured witch in _Playwizard_ , would quite enjoy such a garment, as would I."

As the Healer turned to address Draco, Ron watched George give him a double-handed rude gesture. Remus apparently shared the sentiment as he merely pursed his lips.

"Mr. Malfoy. You may be Ron's," Stormcrow paused, "partner, but I really must ask that you leave the room. I'll need my full concentration to create what I believe will be a permanent staunching of what, in my professional opinion, is simply a time-delayed manifestation of the myriad hexes and curses that Ron was hit with at the end of the War. I looked at your records," he said, jutting out his chin and looking at Ron. "Everything seems to indicate that you were with Potter nearly the entire time. My working theory is that you took almost as much in the crossfire as he did, and that some combination of them bonded into your ambric topography so effectively that no-one could tell it had happened, not even you. Until recently."

"In English," Draco hissed, lacing his fingers more tightly with Ron's.

"Just a bloody minute," Ron said, his mind whirring with Stormcrow's summary of his condition.

"We'll be off now," Remus repeated, his expression seeming to indicate that he was keeping his temper in check. "Healer Stormcrow, I hope that your theory is indeed as you've described and that you are able to bring Ron to a speedy recovery. Do take George at his word. Should you need either of us to assist in any way, please owl me immediately."

"Rest assured that I will." His gaze rested on George, who gave him a one-sided lip curl in lieu of a smile. "You should be fully recovered in a few days. I wouldn't recommend any duelling or advanced spell-casting until then, however."

"I'll try to remember that," George said blisteringly before glancing at Draco and Ron.

"I'd be sure to get a second opinion if I were you."

Remus tugged on George's arm and they left the room.

"How could I have not known that there was something that wrong with me?" Ron asked, reaching his free hand under his sheets to adjust the waistband of his sleep pants. "I'm a Healer too, for Merlin's sake. We all have quarterly obligatory physicals. Yeah, I fought next to Harry for months…" his voice trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. "But that was nearly six years ago. I work in Obscure Hexes and Curses, y'know, and none of them have that long of a time before they show up. Kind of defeats the purpose in casting them, if you know what I mean."

"I do. Maybe you weren't listening," Stormcrow said, tapping the folder against the side of his charcoal trousers. "I don't think it's one particular curse or hex. I believe that given how dense and how intense the barrage of spells were being cast around you, the residual energy and dark magic got absorbed into your life essence integument."

"Ron. What the fuck is he saying?"

It was obvious that Draco's patience had strained nearly to the breaking point. While Ron was irrevocably grounded in his partner and grateful for his justifiable concern, he really didn't want to witness another of Draco's shouting matches. Ron was planning on being able to come back to St. Mungo's, after all, and he'd have to interact with Stormcrow on occasion.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I think I might understand," Ron hedged. "Look, Theodore, do you mind giving me a couple of minutes to talk with Draco, then you can perform whatever it is that you think will stop the decay rate, okay?"

The Healer let out a heavy sigh through his nose. "All right. But only a few minutes." He looked disdainfully at Draco, who returned with a glare that could have singed Stormcrow's russet eyebrows.

Once alone, Draco shook his head, a resigned expression settling on his refined features. "Do you really have a clue as to what that that pretentious arsehole is talking about? The idea of him spending a lot of time with you makes me absolutely ill."

Ron shrugged slowly. "Lean over?" he asked, already feeling an inexorable ebbing of strength as the infusion from George began to dissipate.

Draco did, placing a soft but chaste kiss on his mouth before nipping gently at Ron's lips. Ron sent out his tongue, reveling in the familiar, warm terrain of teeth and tongue of Draco's mouth until Draco pulled back, running his fingers down Ron's cheek. "Tell me what's going on, as you understand it," he said, sitting back down while Ron turned on his side.

"Well, it's been ages since I studied Abstrusology, and to be honest, I was pretty much pants at it. But I think that's what he's referring to. Every magical person has their own unique ambric pattern—"

"I know that," Draco interrupted. "How is he going to—"

"Draco. Let me finish," Ron said peevishly. "You asked. I'm answering." He took some of the sting out of his commentary by sliding his hand under Draco's. "I think I have something like an organic version of what I cured you of, that nasty _persona immunata_ hex, except that your magic was actively working against you. Mine's been corrupted and is breaking apart, but no one thing caused it. If Stormcrow's right, the after-effects of the brunt of the spells I didn't dodge and the residual energy that's always let off after a spell, especially dark magic spells, just settled into me. It didn't do anything until all of a sudden, a few weeks ago, the deepest level of my personal magical signature asserted itself and the other energy, the changed energy, fought back. Mine seems to have lost."

Draco's fingers stroked Ron's as Ron lay still, lost in thought. Now that he'd said it all out loud, it did seem to make sense, but he wasn't entirely sure what the other Healer had in mind.

"Lost," Draco repeated, worry creeping back into his voice. "You're being awfully calm about this."

Ron shook his head as he heard Stormcrow's unwelcome footsteps coming down the corridor. "Most people who come to St. Mungo's are cured, one way or another. Stormcrow's a berk and an arse, but he knows what he's doing."

Draco scowled as he sat up, straightening his Italian wool jumper and fixating his gaze on Stormcrow. "He'd better."

* * * * *

After a celebratory 'welcome home' dinner, complete with an outrageous selection of chocolate desserts that Draco had made solely for Ron's return, Ron was practically dragged to Xavier's room to read to him before he went to sleep. Xavier hadn't asked to be read to in a couple of years, having insisting he was too old for that. Ron guessed that his sudden and serious illness had caused Xavier to regress somewhat and that he wanted to be comforted in an older and familiar way. Once tucked into his bed with his dragon-patterned coverlet pulled up to his chin, Xavier listened attentively as Ron read a chapter out of a massive Muggle book, The _Lord of the Rings_. Persephone Weasley, their distant American relation, had recently sent Xavier the book and he'd become hooked.

At long last Ron said good-night to his nephew, received a short grunt of farewell from Severus as he passed the library, and finally retreated to his bedroom. Draco was puttering around, straightening up a stack of books on his bedside table before lighting a few candles near their bed.

"Xave asleep?" Draco asked, walking over to his large bureau to get out a pair of silk pyjamas.

"Doubt it," Ron answered, sagging into an overstuffed chair and propping his feet on an ottoman. "But I don't know why not. If I tried reading that book I'd drop straight off. I can't pronounce half of the bloody characters' names, much less keep up with what's going on. When I was his age I didn't read anything except _Quidditch Life_ , that Quidditch mag for kids."

"Somehow I suspect that being Percy's son, Xavier has far more book sense than you do," Draco said dryly, unfastening his trousers and folding them fastidiously before draping them over a charmed anti-wrinkle hanger.

"Thanks a lot!" Ron said indignantly as he sank further into the chair, rubbing at his temple.

"You have other redeeming qualities," Draco said as he unbuttoned his shirt. He turned around to hang it up as painstakingly as his other clothes in a chifferobe that he and Ron shared.

"Glad to hear you say that…" Ron's voice trailed off as he sat up, staring at Draco's back. "What on Merlin's—"

"Don't forget that Healer Abbott is coming tomorrow at ten o'clock," Draco interrupted, closing the carved wooden door. "He's going to teach me how to cast a ambrus renovo so that he doesn't need to come over here every day. Rather ironic that what got us together first was you healing me, now I'm—"

"That's a fucking tattoo!" Ron stood up so quickly he almost fell over his own feet. "When the hell did you get a tattoo?" he asked incredulously. "And why?" He gaped at the russet-coloured lion preening his paw, gracing his partner's shoulder blade.

Draco turned to look at Ron over his shoulder, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "When I started to go crazy thinking about you losing all of your magic, or worse." He slowly turned around, placing his arms around Ron's waist, his expression sombre. "Xavier went with me. Severus insulted my intelligence in the way only someone with his vocabulary can. You got a dragon as a pledge to me, early on. This is mine to you, to let you know that I'll do everything I can, learn all the healing I need to for you to get your ambric energy restored. No matter how long it takes. I'm not going anywhere and you are _going_ to recover. I demand it."

Ron was flabbergasted. Draco had always been so proud of his nearly flawless skin. Ron was shocked to the point of overwhelmed that he would choose to have something permanent like that inked onto his body. That Draco was also so vehement in participating in Ron's healing process made his own devotion to Draco surge through him. It was a palpable wave of gratitude, pounding warm and steady; he felt a pulsing sense of home and need that inexplicably made him want to ravage his lifemate, even though his strength was still below normal.

"Then I will," Ron rumbled, grasping Draco's head in his hands and kissing him hard on the mouth. Draco responded in kind, sliding his hands down to knead at Ron's arse through his tracksuit pants. It was as though Draco were possessing and reclaiming Ron, his tongue aggressively twisting and turning against Ron's until he drew back, breathing heavily.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Draco panted, his pupils dilated so that only a sliver of grey ringed the black. "Merlin knows I've missed you, but I don't want to do anything that's going to make you worse."

"I've worked with Raven Abbott on occasion," Ron said in a low voice. He smoothed his hands down Draco's back, slowly sliding his groin against Draco's erection, only loosely covered by his boxers. "I think he would approve of this kind of healing to go along with more conventional spells."

"Good," Draco breathed into Ron's mouth. "Want you in me," he murmured, flicking his tongue around Ron's lips before breathing hotly into Ron's ear. "Slow and deep, so deep."

Ron moaned, clenching his fingers under the slight swell of Draco's narrow backside. "Anything," he said, groaning at the thought of Draco spread out beneath him, showing Draco without words how much he loved him, how relieved he was that he wasn't actually dying. He was going to bring Draco as much pleasure as he could and then take him beyond it, their bodies joined in a way that made Ron thank Merlin he was a man every time they had sex.

There was no need for further words; Draco shed his boxers and climbed into bed while Ron got out of his tracksuit and y-fronts. Wand in hand, he aimed at his bed side table to _Accio_ their lubricant. Ron felt as though he'd been doused in frigid water when the familiar tingle of energy didn't happen. His wand was lifeless, a dead piece of wood clutched in his fingers. He closed his eyes at the shame of having forgotten his current state, letting his wand clatter to the floor.

"Come here love," Draco entreated, the rare vocal endearment enough to bring Ron out of his gloomy reverie. "Ron." Draco held out his right hand, the other patting the space beside him on the bed. "It'll come back. You don't need it now, though." He pulled Ron into their bower of pillows and soft sheets and giving him such a heated look that Ron felt desire flood back to his groin.

Once flat on his back, Ron was bathed in kisses and occasional bites, his body owned and laved by Draco's clever tongue and lips. He spread his legs wide as Draco moved down his torso, reveling in being at his bondmate's mercy. Draco at last arrived at Ron's steely cock. He flicked his gaze upward to glance at Ron from under heavy lids before licking the fluid that had seeped from the top. "Mine," Draco sighed contentedly as he swallowed Ron half-way down, swirling his tongue around Ron's sensitive shaft.

"Yeah, oh fuck, feels amazing," Ron murmured, carding his fingers through Draco's fine hair as again and again he thrust into Draco's mouth. It didn't matter that they'd been together for several years; the sight of his lover, normally reserved and proper in his own cynical way, enthusiastically sucking him gave Ron a jolt of pleasure and he bucked against Draco's lips.

Draco drew back, wiping a stray bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth. "Like that, do you?" he asked with a sultry smile.

"You're brilliant," Ron said, wiggling his hips so that his cock bobbed in front of Draco's face.

"I know. Want you now, though."

Ron watched avidly as Draco got on his hands and knees to retrieve their lube from the bed side table. He was slender but kept his lightly-muscled form by swimming laps most days. Ron's gaze was drawn to Draco's unexpectedly wide shoulders and the new tattoo that blazed against his porcelain skin. When Draco sat back on his heels to unscrew the cap, Ron got up and tackled him, pinning him face-down on the bed. Draco chuckled when Ron gently ran his fingers over the vivid lion, now sitting straight up, his tail swishing in the air and blue eyes gleaming.

"Glad you like it," Draco said softly. "It had Xave's approval, but yours means more."

Leaning down, Ron brushed his lips over the coloured skin. "You mean everything," he breathed, rolling to his side and pulling Draco to him. "I know I was in a fucking bad place before, and you didn't leave. In fact, you marked yourself for me." He spoke the words reverently, hushed against Draco's cheekbone.

"You waited for me when I needed time." Draco insinuated his hand between them and slowly began to wank them together. "And besides, I enjoy shocking you from time to time," he said wickedly, raising an eyebrow before pressing his lips hard against Ron's in a closed kiss.

"It worked. I'm shocked," Ron gasped as Draco pulled hard on their cocks.

"And I'm horny. Get yourself ready," Draco demanded, moving back and getting up on his hands and knees, muttering a cleansing spell under his breath.

"Gladly." Ron caressed Draco's arsecheeks, leaning in to lick a swath from the base of his spine to tease briefly around Draco's entrance. Draco whimpered in response, widening the stance of his legs and hanging down his head. Ron squeezed some of the gel on his fingers, using them to press into Draco's body a few times while he slicked his cock with the other hand. He got to his knees, taking himself in hand and sliding up and down against the narrow crevice before pushing slowly and steadily into Draco's tight heat. He felt like a train taking on speed, his heart beating faster and faster as he pulled back and thrust in again, pressed completely against Draco's willing body.

"Harder, gods, want to feel like your cock's up my spine," Draco said savagely, shoving himself back, using the headboard for leverage.

Ron began a nearly brutal pace, holding on to Draco's hips as he slid in and out, encouraged by his lover's wordless enthusiastic grunts and moans. The squelching and slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh was an erotic cacophany that reverberated in Ron's thundering heart. Even though he couldn't see Draco's face, Ron loved having sex this way, able to penetrate as fully as he could with each snap of his hips. It was almost animalistic, rutting into him like a wild thing, and Draco responded like a feral creature, wanton and insatiable.

"You—love—this—" Ron grunted. Possessive lust bloomed through him, the telltale spiral of his release coiling in his sacs as Draco wailed his affirmation. Draco suddenly let out a broken cry, his inner muscles clenching and spasming around Ron's cock. Ron slowed his thrusts, trying to hold himself in check through Draco's orgasm.

"Don't stop until you come!" Draco panted.

Ron took him at his word. A minute or so later the tension shattered; there was nothing but his release pulsing out of him, time drizzling like chilled honey as small details like Draco's quivering thighs and the musky scent of sex manifested themselves back into Ron's reality. He loosened his grip on Draco, placing his hands beside him on the bed and marking Draco's sweat-damp back with a trail of dry kisses.

"I'm going to collapse," Draco warned, "but stay in me, just for a bit. Missed you." Gingerly they eased down to the bed, Ron angling as best he could to keep his softening cock from slipping out.

"I'm not crushing you?" Ron asked.

"A bit, but it's okay."

They lay quietly for a few moments, but Ron was overly conscious of his weight on Draco and he scooted back just a bit so that they were uncoupled. He rolled onto his back and Draco spooned up next to him, draping a leg over Ron's and wrapping an arm around Ron's torso.

" _Scourgify_ ," Draco said quietly and the wet spot under Ron's thigh disappeared.

"Love you," Ron mumbled before he surrendered to sleep.

* * * * *

Ron sat in the cushioned chair with his feet propped on an ottoman, half-heartedly thumbing through a month-old _Broom Enthusiast_. He rolled his wand in his fingers, occasionally grasping it in his palm, seeing if he could feel any of his magic channeling through it. He couldn't. Rationally he tried to manage his souring mood; he didn't want to take out his anxiety and fear on Draco.

"Aren't you supposed to be with a Healer of some sort?" Snape asked as he shuffled into the room, leaning on Xavier for assistance.

"Yes. Abbot's due any minute," Ron said, instantly cross. He had no issues dishing back at Snape. Xavier gave him a frown as he helped Snape get situated on the couch.

"Ah. I should have found that axiomatic given it's not quite ten o'clock on a Saturday and you're dressed and I daresay, clean shaven."

"Look, if you're going to give me grief when I've bloody well not done anything—" Ron spouted off as he heard Draco and their guest's voice in the corridor. "Just let it be, for once," he said, scowling at the former Potions Master. Ron got up from his chair and tossed the magazine on a coffee table with a satisfying slap.

"Hello, Ron," the Healer said warmly, shaking Ron's hand once Draco had guided him into the large sitting room.

"Hi Raven. Thanks for coming out here to do this. Means a lot to be able to do heaps of this healing at home rather than coming into Mungo's on a daily basis."

"I wouldn't trust your care to just anybody; we need you back as soon as possible." Raven smiled, lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. "I have no doubt that Malfoy's skills are such that he'll become quite proficient at casting the _Renovo_ to slowly fortify your ambric signature. Another transfusion from your brother isn't a bad idea, either."

"You'd recommend that? Really?" Draco asked, his skepticism apparent. "I spent a fair amount of time firecalling an old family Healer in Bretagne. He was, shall we say, surprised that such a procedure had been done at all."

"I want to learn how to cast the spell, too," Xavier declared, walking over to stand next to Ron. "I'm going to be a Healer when I grow up."

Ron looked down at him, a smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were going to be an archer." "You're going to be a what?" Draco's brows furrowed.

"An archer," Xavier said smugly. "Like Legolas." He assumed the stance of a person drawing back a bow.

"Merlin," Draco groaned, crossing his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you're still reading that book that Persephone sent."

"I'm rereading it," Xavier retorted. "You can borrow it when I'm done."

"No thank you. I have no interest in reading that Muggle fantasy tripe, with Legsolot and Frogo and Merlin only knows what else—"

"Have your row later!" Ron hissed, embarrassed that they were having an argument in front of an esteemed colleague. He was incredibly uncomfortable that Raven was being exposed to such a display of domestic dischord.

"That's my uncle Severus," Xavier said, pointing at Snape, who still sat on the couch, glowering. "He was brilliant at making potions."

Ron winced, wondering how the former professor would react to such an introduction.

"Pleasure to meet you," Raven said, bowing slightly at the waist. "While I've known your name for some time, I'm glad to meet you in person."

Snape looked less than delighted. "So you say. Xavier, please fetch me some parchment and a dicta-quill. I owe Lupin a reply to some correspondence he sent yesterday."

Xavier bounded off to his task after wheedling a promise from Draco that they wouldn't conduct the healing spell without him.

"Where should we do this?" Ron asked, anxious to get the initial spell cast so that Raven could get on with his day. Most people were intrigued by the Manor, but didn't like to stay for long periods of time. The expansiveness and legacy of the house was rather off-putting for anyone outside of their unconventional family.

"Well, this is a rather intimate spell," the Healer said with neither apology nor embarrassment. "It's not at all sexual, but as you know, Ron, ambric energy is the force that makes us different from Muggles. Even the slightest manipulation to your signature has the potential of modifying your innate nature, your personality— your very sense of self."

"I'd trust Draco with my life," Ron said firmly.

"That's the most intelligent thing I've ever heard you say," Snape sneered.

"Abbott, I think we should move on to another room," Ron said, glaring daggers at Snape before turning and gesturing to the corridor. "We'll just go to…" his voice trailed off as he slowed his steps.

"I think we should go to the sauna," Draco suggested, slipping his hand into Ron's in a rare public gesture of affection.

"The sauna?" Ron asked, scooting over as Xavier rushed past them to deliver his items to Snape. "That's not a particularly, um, intimate space."

"Sure it is," Draco countered. "You and I have talked about a lot of personal things in there, and I'm pretty sure we've never had a fight while sweating."

"Reckon that's true," Ron agreed. "It's too hot to fight."

"Is there enough space for three of us?" Raven asked.

"There's plenty for all four of us," Xavier said, joining their entourage. "I'll lead the way."

"Your nephew is quite determined," Raven said, humour in his voice.

"He'll do well when he gets to Hogwarts," Draco said, his pride evident.

"Any thoughts as to which House he'll be in?" Raven asked, increasing his stride to keep up with Xavier.

"Gryffindor," "Slytherin," Ron and Draco interjected at the same time.

"No Weasley has ever been in Slytherin that I know of," Ron said, affronted. "There's no way that would happen."

"He could be the first Weasley who's that fortunate," Draco snapped. "I'm raising him too, you know. Doubtless some of my influence is rubbing off on him."

"Gentlemen, will I need a towel? Or is this a true sauna, and we're all to be in the altogether?" Raven's calm baritone cut through the increasing tension between Ron and Draco, reminding Ron that he should keep his temper under control. The elder Healer was known for his pacifying presence at St. Mungo's, and Ron was certain that he hadn't asked the former question thinking it would cause a row.

"We tend to sauna nude, but you're welcome to wear as many clothes as you like," Draco said a bit stiffly. He still held Ron's hand, but now his grip was painful. "I do prefer to get the temperature to sweltering, however."

Ron and Draco were silent the rest of the walk to the pool. Slightly ahead of them, Xavier kept up a running monologue about Elves and bowmanship. Once they arrived, Draco laid a hand on the carved marble door to unward it. They filed in, Xavier heading straight for the shower area where the sauna had been built in. Ron went off in the opposite direction.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked sharply.

"To get a drink," Ron muttered.

"It's not even ten-thirty."

Draco was bristling, but Ron was still cheesed off and didn't give a skrewt's bum what Draco thought.

"I don't care what time it is. I need to relax," Ron said through gritted teeth. He strode over to the mahogany bar set in an alcove near one of the tall mullioned windows and poured himself a half glass of Laphroiag. After taking two healthy swallows, he added a splash more before taking it and joining the trio in the showers. Like every other room in the Manor, it was opulent in the extreme. Each vast marble tile had been hand-carved with the Malfoy crest; the shower heads — serpentine, of course — gleamed in brilliant silver. Even the holes of the drains were shaped in an M, with some Malfoysian motto in Latin etched into the circumference. Still, it was a soothing room and not stark, the white glowing softly rather than having a harsh, sterile sheen.

"How would you describe your ability at healing spells?" Raven was asking Draco as Ron entered the chamber.

"Above average. They improved dramatically during the War," Draco replied as he methodically shed his clothes.

Ron admired his partner's pale skin and the new scarlet lion currently sleeping on his shoulder blade. He downed the rest of his drink, relishing the warm burn of the alcohol. Between the scotch and being reminded of Draco's affections, he felt much more at ease than he had moments before.

"I spent quite a while looking at your charts," Raven said, taking off his robes and clothing until he stood in just long blue leggings. "I'm still not entirely sure what all happened, and in what combination. I do believe that the Ambrus Renovo, cast first by me but then by the one with whom you've shared the most recent emotional energy, should reinforce your existing base level of ambric energy. Over some time, it will be built up to normal levels."

"What if he gets too much?" Xavier asked, standing unselfconsciously starkers, an emerald coloured towel draped around his neck.

"I'll check up on him regularly, not to worry," Raven reassured him. "Well. Shall we go in? I think this will be an excellent environment," he said approvingly to Draco. "Heat is almost always an amplifier for spellwork."

Xavier had not inherited his comfortable immodesty from Ron. Despite that, with the low thrum of the Laphroaig in his system and logically reasoning that while Abbott was a coworker, he was also a Healer, Ron quickly got undressed. Draco had indeed set the heating charm to a high level and Ron broke out into a sweat the instant he stepped into the sauna. Xavier went up to the higher of the two wooden benches. He laid out his towel and stretched out on his back with a contented sigh. Raven conjured a hair tie and pulled his already dripping hair back into a ponytail.

"All right. Ron, why don't you lie down here," Raven suggested, pointing to the bench the furthest distance from the rock crèche.

"Needs steam," Xavier said, the hint of a whine threading his voice.

"After the spell," Draco chided as Ron spread out his towel and lay down.

Raven wiped his hand over his face and shook it, droplets of sweat hissing as they landed on the nearby stones. "You'll need your wand," he said to Draco.

"Of course."

Ron could tell Draco was silently berating himself in his head as he cracked open the door and accio'ed it. Wand in hand, he stood next to Raven. The Healer was far thinner than Ron had imagined, and he had rather lush, white hair across his chest.

"Focus on what you think is Ron's deepest strength, where his power is the most vibrant," Raven said, his voice low and melodic. "I'll be channeling into the signature with a combination of his actual ambric topology in mind as well as my own intuition, but your fortifying of the spell will ideally come from a place of the heart."

Draco gazed down at Ron, who now felt naked and exposed in ways far beyond plain nudity. It wasn't as though he thought Draco was judging him, or finding him terrifically flawed, but the double dose of Raven's lilac eyes boring intensely and Draco's unblinking stare were enough for Ron to begin to tense up.

"Relax, Ron," Raven said, his tone rich and soothing, flowing over him like warm oil. "You may feel some discomfort, but it will pass. Simply lower any guards to your innermost energy."

Ron allowed his eyes to drift closed, imagining that he was alone on the beach he'd gone to on holiday with Draco a few years before. As his breathing slowed, a distant part of his mind recognised the sound of Xavier shifting around. Feelings of security drifted through him; diaphanous adoration settled tranquilly in his chest and he relaxed even more, his legs rolling slightly out from his hip sockets.

The incantation wasn't one that Ron had heard before, but given how rare his condition was, he wasn't surprised. The words were repeated, cyclical and chant-like. It was subtle, but Ron sensed his own vigour sparking deep within himself, echoed as the blood pulsed resolutely in his ears. A dull ache creeped into his torso as though his ribs and joints were sore, then other throbbing pain radiated gently in his pelvis. Subtle distress wound tendrils around his spine, massaging his very core. Ron whimpered despite his desire to keep quiet.

"Are you okay?" Xavier sounded panicked.

"Quiet!" Draco said tersely as Raven's spell came to a close. There were a few moments of hushed, heavy breathing. "You shouldn't talk during complicated spells. I thought you knew that."

Ron opened his eyes as the dis-ease ebbed away.

"He was moaning," Xavier said, rubbing stubbornly at his face with a damp towel. "It scared me. Healers are supposed to make people better, not worse."

"Sometimes the work we do makes a patient hurt for a while before he or she feels improved," Raven explained, choosing a corner in which to drape his ivory towel and sit down. "If you're serious about wanting to be a Healer, you'll have to learn to bear the sounds of someone suffering. It doesn't come easily." A melancholy smile settled on his lips as he mopped at the sheen of drops on his forehead. "How _do_ you feel?" he asked, turning to Ron.

"Bit like I've had Bludgers inside of me, trying to escape," he replied, grimacing as he got up onto his elbows. "But it's already fading."

"Would it be all right if I do his auralic?" Draco asked Raven, his wand poised above Ron's abdomen. "I think it'd be good for me to cast it while you're here. You can tell me what to look for."

"Fine. Excellent suggestion."

Draco focussed his attentions to his task, but not before giving Ron a quick, secretive smile. It was strange for Draco to be giving Ron a full-magic scan; Ron couldn't help but think of the first auralic he'd cast on Draco when their lives had first become re-intertwined after the War. Draco struggled somewhat with evenness in his channeling. Ron could barely sense it, but Xavier pointed out how lumpy the aura looked as Draco illuminated the feeble manifestation of Ron's magic.

"I'll get better," Draco said tightly, his face taut with concentration.

Raven gave him some suggestions that any new student Healer would be told, and soon the senior Healer pronounced Draco a natural. Satisfied, Draco put down his wand by the door. He picked up a ladle and doused the stones with water, which sizzled and hissed as damp heat filled the room. He and Raven then sat and discussed the preferred regimen that Raven wanted Draco to enact. Ron and Xavier, meanwhile, remained on their respective wooden benches, lying on their backs and luxuriating in their steamy roasting. After Raven and Draco's conversation came to a lull, the Healer shook his head like a wet dog, droplets of sweat flying around the small room. His underleggings were soaked through at the waist and groin, the dark blue patches spreading down his inner thighs.

"I can see why you enjoy this, but I'd need to work up to spending any serious time in a sauna," he said, using his towel to wipe down his face and upper back. "I do appreciate your hospitality and think that this is an excellent location to cast the _Renovos_ , but I'm roasting!" He smiled as he stood up, dabbing at the moisture clinging to his shaggy eyebrows.

"It may be an acquired taste," Draco acknowledged, shaking Raven's hand but not getting up from the bench. "Thank you for coming over to the Manor as well as for your confidence in my ability to successfully keep Ron on his road to healing."

Ron raised up onto his elbows. "Yeah, Raven, this was really good of you. I'll explain some of the less obvious readings to him as the days go on. I'll have a detailed report for you when you come back."

"I approve of that." Raven used the back of his wrist to rub sweat out of his eyes. "But now I really must be going. I'll look forward to seeing how much of your signature has been restored when I give you a thorough going-over in a week's time."

"I'll learn how to cast an auralic before you visit again," Xavier said, his voice less animated than usual due to the heat.

"That's pretty advanced magic and tricky to do without a wand," Raven said, grasping the door handle. "I wouldn't mind watching you do some target practise, though, if you're really working on being an archer."

Xavier perked up at that and sat up partway, resting on his hands. He'd twisted his green towel around his head like a turban. "Okay!" he beamed.

"Do feel free to take a shower before you leave," Draco offered. "Every aspect of the water can be adjusted—heat, force, type of stream, even the colour…"

"A _Scourgify_ will suit me just fine," Raven said as he opened the door. "Perhaps next week."

"Would you like for me to walk you out?" Ron asked, trying belatedly to be a good host.

"No, no—I'll just get on my way. If I get lost I'll call for Mr. Snape."

"It takes him a while to walk," Xavier said matter-of-factly. "And his arms and legs jerk around a lot. But he'd be able to tell you where the front door is, no worries."

Draco's expression was so full of pride Ron felt a sharp bite of nausea jab in his stomach. It didn't make sense, but Ron occasionally had moments when he thought Draco's parenting seemed too effusive to the point of being false. In his truest heart he knew Draco wasn't making it up, the affection and seriousness with which he took his responsibility of being a co-parent. That rational inner voice was smothered from time to time, however, and in those moments he wanted to remind Draco in no uncertain terms that his nephew was Xavier Weasley, _not_ Xavier Malfoy.

"Thank you, Xavier. Until next week, then."

The door shut securely behind him, leaving Ron, Draco and Xavier in steamy seclusion. Ron's illogical drive to get at Draco gnawed malignantly at him as the minutes went by until he couldn't hold it in.

"So Xave, are you really on your second read-through of _Lord of the Rings_?"

"Mmm hmmm. I'm learning some Elvish. How to say it, and write it, too," he said, his enthusiasm reviving at the topic. "I'm practising on that Emmalexis plant from Uncle Neville. It really seems to like being talked to."

Draco made a low growling sound.

"What?" Ron asked innocently. "Xave's not doing any harm. Percy was a bookworm—surely you can't be surprised that he's like him."

"Stop being such a manipulative arse," Draco said threateningly. "Xavier? You've been in here long enough. Go ahead and get a shower and see what your Uncle Snape is really up to, okay? We'll be out in just a few minutes."

"But Draco," Xavier complained, "I don't wanna go."

"Do it anyway."

Scowling, Xavier climbed down to the floor, tore the towel turban from his head and tied it around his thin waist in a huff. "What's wrong with that book, anyway? Like Ron said, my dad read a lot. I remember him having heaps of books around. He would read to me, before I knew how, I mean."

"We'll talk about it later," Draco said, rearranging his towel so he could sit against the slatted wall. "This isn't about you, not really."

"Don't fight. I don't like it." Xavier paused, wiping at a tear of sweat on his neck.

"We're not," Ron reassured him. "Sometimes we just need to talk alone." The truth was, he'd been petty and he knew it. The need to prove a point had already faded and in its place Ron had a leaden frothing of regret.

"Fine." Seemingly okay, Xavier left the sauna.

"What is your problem?" Draco asked peevishly, placing his hands over his head to hold on to one of the wooden beams.

"What's yours?" Ron retaliated, feeling backed into a corner even though he'd been the one to start the exchange. "It's just a book."

"He's becoming obsessed, Ron. He's re-reading it, and it's not exactly short. He says he wants to be Legsolot—"

"Legolas."

"Whatever. He's now teaching himself this language, a fictional language, mind you, and talking to a bloody plant in it?! It's pathological."

"He's enthusiastic! So what? He's bloody brilliant, from what I've seen over the years. What's wrong with being interested in some fantasy world?" Ron said, jumping to his nephew's defense. When his short tirade stopped, he realized that he honestly now had no idea what they were really arguing about anymore.

"It's more than enthusiasm, and you're all like that!" Draco's face, already pink from the heat of the sauna, was becoming splotchy and red. That only occurred when he was exceedingly angry or upset.

"All like what? What in Hades are you on about?" Ron's hackles went back up. Each time he thought Draco had finally, truly accepted him, he'd come out with something like this from left field and it cheesed Ron off, planting small seeds of doubt of their long-term compatibility, despite being handfasted.

"You're ALL obsessed," Draco said ponderously as though Ron were thick for having to ask. "Your mum with grandchildren. George and the products at his shop. Your dad and his inane collection of Muggle rubbish. Charlie and dragons. Even Percy, back at Hogwarts, obsessed with being the perfect prefect. I do hope that by being around I'll help temper Xavier, give him a chance at being slightly more normal. That's hardly a crime. Surely even you can see that everyone in your family's gone mad about one thing or another."

Ron was incensed at Draco's implications, and for a few seconds he simply gaped, looking at him again through the lens of his youth, seeing nothing but haughty disdain and smug superiority. Ron's initial disbelief at how Draco apparently continued to judge his entire family morphed into hostility. His mind went barreling down two paths, too busy to censor the barbs that fired from his mouth. "That's bloody rich, coming from you, mister I Know About Every Fucking Knut That Comes In Or Out Of The Entire Fucking Malfoy Estate. And that whole thing about wizarding bloodlines and your own genealogy, even though you're the last Malfoy? No wonder you're so clingy with Xavier. Your real hope is that he'll turn out just like you, that he'll be your legacy."

Ron's verbal attack seemed to crash explosively into its target. Draco's mouth snapped shut, his lips smashed together into a thin, bitter line. His hands came down from the wall and he crossed them over his chest, pulling his feet up as well.

"And me, Draco. You didn't talk about me, what my obsession is, but I can guess. You still think I'm not over Harry."

A sharp pain in his palm made Ron take time to catch his breath. It was only then that he realised he'd clenched his hands so tightly his nails were branding half-moons into the skin. As he forced himself to unfurl his fists, remorse began to batter at him. He hadn't really meant to say half of the antagonistic, ugly things that had spewed out, especially not the last few sentences. Draco sat silently, glaring at him with a fierce contempt that turned Ron's insides to ice. He'd really, really fucked up. Seconds went by, each one pummeling panic as Ron wildly tried to remember exactly what he'd said.

"Living with you isn't always exactly a picnic, you know," Draco said, his baritone lower than usual and menacing, "but I've never stooped that low. I'm keenly aware of Xavier's lineage, but thanks for rubbing it in, especially while sitting in the luxury of my family's legacy. You can shove your opinion of Malfoys up your ungrateful, spotted arse."

Unlike Ron, Draco got horrifyingly calm when he was angry, though right now his loathing radiated off of him and his voice cut as sharply as a _Sectumsempra_. He stood up, jerked his towel off of the bench and tied around his waist with trembling, white knuckled fingers. Blond fringe was plastered down his temples, but his focus was solely on Ron, who now wished he could make a vast hole into which he and his misery could crawl and never come back out.

"I'm not going to deign to discuss you and Potter. I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that I believed your vows during our handfasting. Whatever lingering issues you may have with him are your business. But don't you ever —EVER —insinuate that I have some dark, psychotic plan to take YOUR nephew away from you. Merlin, Ron—sometimes I want to hex you and your self-absorbed bollocks back to the dark ages. I'm fucking BOUND to you, though right now when you're bring a total prick, I really wonder why."

Draco left the sauna and slammed the door into place. His words stung; Ron felt physically bruised in the aftermath. He found it hard to breathe for a time, the heat of the room settling heavily in his lungs. It didn't help that there was now a self-berating chant in his head, beating him with the subtlety of a giant swinging a log. Pissed off Draco or no, he had to get out, inhale some cooler air. On wobbly legs, he shuffled into the expansive bathroom and saw he was alone.

"You're really a piece of fucking work," he muttered to himself, rummaging through his clothes to find his wand. " _Accio_ scotch." A dull ache reverberated in his arm and he swore at himself for forgetting, yet again, that his current magical abilities were barely above that of a Squib. Fuming, he pulled on his boxers and tromped over to the bar, retrieving the Laphroaig. Back in the serene, white suite, he got a new towel and dropped it down onto the cool marble. The tepid air was soothing, cleaning out his head as he took a couple of slugs from the bottle. He lay down on his back, not bothering to cover himself, feeling the hairs on his arms stiffen slightly at the change in temperature. Why the hell did he let things so flagrantly stupid go pouring out of his mouth? He sat up partway to take another few swallows, spluttering a bit as the burn ratcheted down his throat. An image of Draco's certain disapproval came to him and he decided to at least mimic an adult for once in his life; he put the bottle up on a nearby shelf. Getting shit-faced would only make things worse, and he really didn't want that; he was in far too much trouble as it was.

When the relative chill got too much, he got up, took a hot shower and dressed. Glancing over at the jumble of towels, he looked for a basket to put them in, but of course there wasn't one; house-elves would have taken care of that in the past. Ron let out a dejected sigh that sounded pathetic even to his own ears before picking up the detritus from their sauna and heading off to the laundry. He'd check in on Xavier and maybe stop by Draco's in-house bakery if he was working in there, though he knew better than to go in and bother him. Ron had no doubt that Draco wouldn't want to speak to him for some time, and he mentally readied himself for a few days of getting the cold shoulder, which he deserved. An apology would be in order, and to say that he was pretty poor at those was a gross understatement. Draco being as responsible as he was, Ron was sure he'd cast the Renovo each day. That might be the most communication they'd have beyond cursory acknowledgements of each other if Ron didn't make his amends. Xavier would pick up on the tension between them for sure, and Ron despised lying in bed with Draco's back to him. It was far worse than sleeping alone, being shut out like that.

As he turned down the corridor and made his way to the lift that went to the lower levels of the Manor, he began to mull over what he could say to repair this latest gash he'd inflicted on their already strained relationship. He'd never been with anyone for a long period of time; maybe he wasn't meant for a long-term thing with anybody. Standing inside the lift, gazing at his despondent face through the mirrored sheen of Malfoysian crests, he realised that was rubbish. He'd made a commitment to Draco, and he'd meant it. All the same, he wouldn't mind spending a bit more time back over at their other house, the smaller one without the omnipresent pall of Malfoy everywhere he looked. Without his magic, though… Ron was pants at cooking, he couldn't tell a rose from a pansy —well, maybe he'd recognise just those two —and he'd never been able to sweet talk.

"You can always grovel," he said glumly to his reflection. There was a melodious peal as the door opened to let him out. Just then, Ron's inner voice chimed in.

" _Don't forget sex_."

* * * * *

The next few days Ron was on tenterhooks. Draco diligently attended to him each morning in regards to the healing spell, but otherwise they gave each other an uncommonly wide berth. Given that they were still at the Manor, it was thankfully less noticeable than if they'd been in their place in London. Ron found it a struggle to get to sleep at night, stretched out under the sheets with plenty of room because he wasn't allowed anywhere near his partner. Even the most innocent of advances, an arm curled tentatively on Draco's bicep as an offering of peace, was silently declined. At least he hadn't been forbidden from their bed, but Ron struggled regardless, shunned and forbidden any affection.

By Thursday morning he'd decided to deal with Draco directly, though on parchment. He had no desire to screw things up again verbally. First he firecalled his mum and arranged for her to pick up Xave from school and have him spend the night at the Burrow. She didn't even ask what the occasion was, she simply chirruped, "Yes, of course, dear!" and went back to her business. Next he tried to firecall Remus, but he wasn't in his office, so he wrote him a note asking him to look in on Snape in the evening, and suggested that bringing dinner would be okay if he felt like it. After a trip to the owlery and using Draco's owl, Gabriel, to send the message, he sat down in the warmth of the library. There was a magnificent cherry rolltop desk which Draco used, but Ron usually sat in one of the plush chairs and use a lap-desk to write. Not that he did that very often, granted. Ron preferred to see people in person, not communicate from a distance, and that wasn't due solely to the amount of grief he'd received over the years about his untidy handwriting. With a piece of blue parchment and a quill he set to work, having thought through what he'd wanted to say for the past couple of days.

_Dear Draco—_

__

I'm sorry for what I said in the sauna a few days ago. I acted like an insensitive prick, and I apologise. I really hate it that we're not talking. Being in bed with you, not able to hold on to you at all, it's bloody awful. I know I can't take back what I said, but Merlin knows I wish I could. Sometimes I say incredibly stupid shite, and then wish I hadn't. Talking first, regretting afterwards… you know I do that a lot. You're right to be really cheesed off, but do you think we could talk this evening? I've arranged for Xave and Snape to be taken care of. I'd really like to spend the evening back over at our other place, just the two of us. I'll be honest—I miss you, and I feel like a shitty berk. I just want to talk through things. I know I fucked up, big time. And I admit it, I wouldn't object to some snogging. You're the only one for me. The **only** one, Draco. I'm sorry that sometimes I royally put my foot in it and make you wonder why you're with me, or even wish you weren't.


__

He paused, chewing on a flavourless bit of feather as he reread what he'd written.

_I know you're busy finishing up that big éclair order for Parkinson's party this afternoon, that's why I'm not interrupting you. If you're willing to accept my apology, please come over to the house around six. I really hope to see you then._ 


How to end it? Ron wasn't a sap by nature, neither was Draco. They weren't sickeningly lovey, not like a couple of Draco's woofter friends they'd known during their time in the States that Ron had made fun of. He thought of their not-exactly-matching but similar tattoos, and a decent way to close the note finally came to him.

__

Marked as yours,  
  
Ron


__

Nodding, he read it a couple more times until he was satisfied that it couldn't be misread. He wandered down to the specially modified kitchen where Draco spent much of his time, dropped the note into the letter and order bin that hung on the wall next to the door, and went on to his next tasks, feeling better already.

* * * * *

By 6:43, Ron had succumbed to a morbid funk; obviously he was totally screwed. Draco was either too busy to show up, or he was still so upset about their tirade earlier in the week that he wanted to continue punishing him.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Ron mumbled, tending to the oven heat, checking up on the lasagne he'd made and finishing off one of the two open bottles of cabernet savignon. After pouring himself a new glass, he clomped over to a drawer filled with tea towels and rapped at the bottom with his wand. Sluggishly and tediously a section slid back, revealing a small hiding place for the cigarettes and matches he had stashed away for moments just like this. His ambric energy was still very weak, but it seemed to be enough to do the most basic of spells… albeit at treacle speed. Abiding by their rules, even though he was alone, Ron went outside to their deck to smoke, his heart sinking as several more minutes went by. He'd really thought that Draco would show. Dejectedly he swirled the red wine around in his glass, occasionally sucking on the end of his fag and wishing beyond hope that Draco would suddenly appear.

"Fuck!" he swore in surprise. Wine splashed over his thigh when he glanced up at movement in the kitchen and saw Draco standing there, looking tenderly at him but still somewhat aloof. He lurched up out of his chair, flicking the cigarette off over the banister with annoyance and pulling on the glass door. He'd had his share of wine, but it was the emotional relief churning through him that made his knees weak and legs rubbery and useless so that he tumbled into Draco's arms.

"You're here," he said devoutly, clinging to Draco as though only he could keep his world from spinning out into shards of lost happiness.

"I am." Perhaps sensing Ron's neediness, or simply taking pity on him, Draco clasped his hands around Ron's waist. "You're a bit sloppy. Did you leave me any wine?"

Ron nodded against Draco's head. "Yeah," he said, feeling abashed despite the heady buzz of alcohol.

"Good. Will you pour some for me?"

Ron nodded again, embarrassed at the prickling of tears behind his eyes. He felt rather girly that he was so overwhelmed, but he kept his sniffling to a minimum as he grudgingly moved out of Draco's arms and got him some wine. Draco took a deep swallow before placing the glass on a countertop.

"Thanks. C'mere, Ron," Draco said, tilting his head to one side and turning his face up so he could kiss Ron's parched lips. Ron attempted to return the kiss with fervour, but Draco only lapped teasingly at Ron's tongue before leaning back to stand upright again.

"I only want to say a few things, then I want us to go upstairs," he said, his voice mollifying. Ron steadied himself, trying not to imagine the utter worst that might deservedly come out of Draco's mouth. "We're both raising Xavier. He's going to have traits of both of us, and many more things we probably won't understand, because they'll come from Percy, or his mum, who I'm pretty sure I only said twelve words to, ever. I've told you before that I want him to believe he can be anything he wants: archer, butterfly raiser, concert pianist, porn star—whatever. But he's ours, Ron. You and I are in this together, with him."

"And Snape," Ron couldn't resist reminding him.

"And Severus. But Severus is good for him too, and us, even if you don't see it," Draco barreled on, squelching Ron's half-hearted attempt at a contradictory remark. "I apologise for the comments about your family being obsessed. They do tend to focus on particular things, sometimes in ways that would seem abnormal to anyone, but so do I. I was pissed off, and I lashed out. Then there's this Harry thing."

Ron closed his eyes. Draco had been willing to go with him to Hogwarts to grasp at an elusive filament of closure, had seen that Ron had begun to put that behind him. And then Ron had flung it back up at him.

"Look at me," Draco commanded, though there was no harshness in his tone. Once Ron could bring himself to gaze full-on into Draco's eyes, he continued. "You loved him in ways he didn't know. He's gone; it's too late for you to tell him. Sometimes that's how life is. But I'm not going to make myself crazy thinking you're pining over your absolute best friend who you ultimately never told your deepest thoughts to. Do you know why?"

Ron shook his head. He would've driven himself around the bend if he'd known who Draco had loved before; it was that sliver of self-knowledge that prevented him from asking. That and the fact Draco had said he'd never tell because it was irrelevant.

"I didn't think you would." Draco placed a hand on Ron's bicep, his hand gently squeezing in a brotherly manner. "I could be really off the mark, but I think you've told me things you've never told another living soul. That's trust in me, Ron, and belief that I'm going to stick around. You're committed to me, and I know that. But sometimes you doubt yourself, and that's rather painful to watch, even though it happens a lot."

Draco's insight floored Ron. Draco almost never talked like this, then again, neither did he. They just didn't need to talk relationship stuff like a couple of women, but Draco was spot on in what he'd said.

"That's enough from me. Was there anything you wanted to say before we head upstairs and I ask you to do something kinky and really hot?"

"Um…" Ron tried to concentrate on how to respond to Draco's eloquence as well as the sexual promise that now hung in the air. Instead, a menagerie of unspoken replies spun around in his mind:

_You're amazing. Don't ever leave me. I almost don't want my magic back to full strength because I'll miss you casting that spell on me every day and I feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters to you then. You always smell right, like fir trees and clean skin. Any time there's soft rain I twist my handfasting band and think of our bonding ceremony. You're a brilliant father. I could watch you swim laps for days. You were so scared for me that you got a tattoo._

For all of Ron's thoughts, "I can't believe how much I used to hate you. I got off on our fighting," is what came out of his mouth.

An understanding, rueful smile tugged the corner of Draco's lips. "We were younger then."

"Love you, so much," finally made its way across Ron's tongue.

Draco nodded sagely. "Meet me in our bathroom. I'm about to ask you to wield a razor, so if you felt like casting a sobering spell on yourself, I wouldn't mind." He kissed Ron deeply, his tongue sliding roughly against Ron's, who moaned at the intense contact. He wanted to be devoured, wanted Draco to be riding him, hot and grasping around him…

Breaking the kiss, Ron breathed heavily. "Razor? What?" he asked, wondering if Draco was going to ask him to shave his head or something really odd.

"Why don't you turn off the heat on the food. I really do appreciate it, but I ate a small snack before I came over, and I want you right now more than I want your Italian baking," he purred, sliding his hand down the front of Ron's groin and humming appreciatively at the pronounced erection trapped in his denims.

"Okay," Ron said plaintively when Draco's hand moved away to take the bottle of wine. He watched Draco leave the kitchen before methodically turning off the oven and putting his rather boring salad in the cold box. He did cast a low-grade sobering spell on himself which left him still feeling warm and cheery but not nearly as slow on the uptake as he'd been. Draco's confidence in him, in their ability to keep going without fucking things up, especially each other, was a welcome salve to his spirit. Now that things seemed back at peace, desire roared through him, and he practically bounded up the steps to see what Draco had in mind.

The door to the bathroom was closed and for a moment he paused, adjusting his increasingly hard cock before knocking.

"Come in," Draco called.

Ron entered their spacious bathroom, overwhelmed by the heat. After closing the door, he stared while he attempted to second guess his lover's intentions. Draco was naked, a glass of wine in his hand, standing up with one foot resting on a footstool. A basin of water was on the floor, steam rising up from it, next to a plush bathmat. A bottle of what appeared to be shaving cream was placed nearby, though Ron wasn't entirely sure as the label was in another language. Completing the odd tableau was a washcloth and a razor with an ornate bronze handle. Draco gazed heatedly at him and Ron swallowed.

"I want you to shave me," he said, his voice sliding over Ron like supple leather.

"Shave what?"

The sensual, slight movement of Draco's hips caused his heavy sacs to sway below his own stiffening shaft, and enlightenment hit Ron like a Bludger.

"Bollocks," he spluttered as Draco laughed silently at the accidental double entendre. "I mean, you really want me to shave those?"

"Yes, I really do. I used to keep them like that, back years ago, and the thought occurred to me that I'd like to have smooth balls again. It's also a trust thing. I want you to do it."

"Fucking hell," Ron said, sucking in a breath as sweat broke out on his forehead. It was undeniably a turn-on, both from the unexpected intimacy as well as the power that Draco was entrusting to him. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it in a crumpled heap on the floor, and sank to his knees on the bathmat. The blade on the razor looked quite wicked. "I'm no surgeon," he rumbled, trying to ignore his painfully hard cock.

"Good," Draco said, his voice sultry. "You're not meant to cut them."

Reverently Ron cradled the soft, supple skin with one hand, nosing at the delicious musky scent in Draco's groin. Making sure his fingers weren't trembling, he picked up the washcloth and shaving cream, and set to his task. It wasn't until he'd made one careful, timid slide down with the razor and heard Draco's shuddering sigh that he realised he'd been holding his breath. He'd never thought of bollocks as particularly erotic before, but doing this, with Draco's low noises of pleasure raining down on him, made him reconsider. Gingerly, treating the pendulous skin as though it were fine crystal, he shaved off the downy hair until the skin was smooth. He'd noticed Draco's shaft edging upward even as Draco had considerately moved it to be out of the way, and he licked at the bottom of it when he was finished.

"Thank you," Draco said huskily, raking his fingers through Ron's hair and pulling him more closely toward his pelvis.

"Mmmmmm." Ron rinsed off the razor without looking at it and pushed the bowl away. He grasped at the back of Draco's thighs as he opened his lips to pull one of the silky sacs into his mouth.

"Ron, oh fuck, so good," Draco murmured, his grip tightening on Ron's scalp as Ron hollowed his cheeks and his tongue swiped around the malleable skin. He tended to both sides of the delicate, scalloped flesh before sitting back on his heels and looked up. Draco's gaze was scorching. He looked debauched, some of his slicked back hair now stuck to his sweaty temple.

"Bed?" Ron asked, his voice rough and throaty.

"Yes."

Knees creaking, Ron stood up, attacking Draco's neck and mouth, claiming him with open-mouthed, wet kisses. Spending all that time so close to Draco's groin had given him an idea; he didn't like to do it all that often, but he knew Draco loved being tongued in his arse. The thought of that hairless, satiny skin on his face, his tongue ploughing into the scalding, slightly bitter tunnel with Draco moaning above him made his pulse race.

"Wanna rim you," Ron breathed into Draco's ear.

"Yesssssssss," Draco keened, rutting against Ron's all-too-clothed pelvis. "Bed. Now."

They barely separated on their way to their four-poster until Ron wrenched himself away to shove down his uncomfortable denims and pants and pull them off. Draco crawled cat-like to the head of the bed, then lay down on his back, tugging a nearby pillow and placing it under his arse. Ron's cock twitched at the sight. They had a few poofter mags with buff blokes, some hung like hippogryffs, but seeing his own lover with his lean form, licking his lips and thighs spread wantonly, caused Ron's heart to stutter over itself. Draco was his: cock, arse, lips, fingers, earlobes, muscled back, scarred chest. He watched Draco cast a cleansing spell and then cast a heating charm on the room while Ron spread out on top of the bed, grateful that they'd picked one with an extra long mattress. Scooting up between Draco's legs, he spread Draco's pale arsecheeks with his thumbs, opening the beckoning puckered flesh before glancing up at Draco's flushed face.

"Gonna make you feel so good," he promised, mouthing at the tempting bollocks before scootching back and licking around Draco's furred entrance. Ron jabbed into him with his tongue, enthusiastically burying his face into the heady, musky skin as he licked and lapped inside, spurred on by his lover's moans and babbled profanity. He stopped for a moment, getting up on an elbow to pause and stick two fingers into his mouth to wet them before pressing them inside the springy muscles. Working his tongue in as well, he focussed away from his own aching cock enough to scissor around the heated channel and slid against Draco's prostate, evidenced by his lover's shouts.

"Fuck, ohgodsohgodsohgods!" he whimpered, raising his legs so that he placed his feet near Ron's shoulders. The rhythmic bumping against Ron's forehead made him realise that Draco was at last pulling himself off as well as fondling his smooth sacs, and he redoubled his efforts. Ron's jaw was beginning to ache, but from the way Draco was squeezing his arsecheeks and making broken, almost distressing noises, Ron knew he was on the cusp of what sounded like an intense orgasm.

Draco's whole body shook when he came. With his release he let out a primal wail that resonated in Ron's throbbing prick. Ron felt strikingly proud of himself; he'd learned well how to take care of his lover, but from time to time he wondered if sometimes Draco wasn't perhaps a bit bored. This, however, had been extraordinary, and despite his tired lips and tongue, Ron knew he'd remember the evening's events, and Draco's desperate, hungry sounds, for ages.

Ron eased his fingers out and sat back on his heels, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm and stretching his shoulders. Draco lay still, his hand curled around his slowly wilting cock, a glazed, otherworldly expression on his face. It struck Ron how innocent and untroubled Draco appeared; he tried to memorise it, planning to hide it away with the few other treasured remembrances of Draco being so relaxed and at peace.

Draco's slim tongue ventured out of his mouth, licking at his dry lips. He let out a sated, deep sigh before lolling his head to the side to gaze adoringly at Ron. "That was fucking unreal," he said ardently. "I want to take care of you, too, but I'm utterly shattered."

"Don't think it'll take me long," Ron admitted, knee-walking up the bed to lie down next to his lover. "You could bite me a bit, y'know, on my chest while I wank," he said, a bit discomfited at asking for something specific when Draco probably wanted to do nothing more than roll over and go straight to sleep. That's what _he'd_ want to do, anyway. Well, after a half-asleep kiss.

"I'd be happy to," he said, his voice a bit raspy from his earlier vocal appreciation. After casting a wandless _Scourgify_ on himself, he propped himself up to nip and teeth at Ron's attentive nubs.

"Your tongue should be outlawed, except on me," Ron groaned, his hand pulling hurriedly up and down on his cock, the fluid that had been seeping out of it providing all the slickness that he needed.

"After what you just did to me, I think I should say that about you." Draco flicked at Ron's nipple and leered at him from under hooded lids.

"Oh —ahhhhhhh —Draco, gonna, ohfuck…" Ron's jabbering changed to a low, liquid sigh of relief as his release fountained out of him, the pulses thundering throughout his body and landing as creamy rivulets on his stomach. His breathing calmed down as he languidly fisted himself, his hand motions slowing to a stop with a last shudder of completion.

"Better?" Draco asked silkily, using his fingers to trace down and around the cooling mess on Ron's abdomen.

"Much." Ron stuck out his lower lip and blew upward to get his fringe out of his eyes. "Feel boneless. Don't want to do anything."

"It's a bit early to sleep," Draco mused. He reached over to the bedside table to fetch his wand. Seconds later, Ron was cleaned up and Draco was sipping on a new glass of wine. "Want some?" he asked.

"Wouldn't mind some of that firewhiskey downstairs," Ron said, sitting up to pull down the coverlet and sheets. Thanks to Draco's heating charm the room was warm, but Ron still liked to stretch out underneath the finely woven cotton. Sometimes Draco's tendencies toward luxury suited Ron just fine, his choice of bedding being one of those.

"Fine," Draco said, sound just slightly put out.

"Or wine, whatever," Ron said quickly.

"No, I'll summon it and a glass. Or maybe we could go downstairs—do you want to watch telly? I think we still have that movie from George and Remus, "The Auror's Astrolabe." Since we have the evening to ourselves, we might as well be totally decadent."

Ron nuzzled Draco's shoulder, placing a trail of dry kisses up his neck until he reached his earlobe. "After our wild sex, I can think of nothing else I'd like more than to sit around on our couch with your head in my lap," he breathed into Draco's ear.

"Tickles!" Draco said, swatting at Ron's thigh. "Good. I'll put on some pyjamas and then let's go to the living room."

Ron followed suit, putting on his boxers and finding a t-shirt and tracksuit top that he layered on. Draco managed to find some popcorn, which he popped and coated with indecent amounts of butter and salt. They spent the evening watching the borrowed murder mystery and then the wizarding news. It was with a profound, marrow-deep gratitude that Ron got into bed that night, an arm wrapped around his bondmate, his head cushioned by a deep pillow.

"G'night," he mumbled into Draco's hair. "Sleep well."

"You too," Draco replied, clasping Ron's hand to his ribs.

* * * * *

Ron improved slowly and steadily under Draco's _ambrus renovo_ spells and weekly visits to Raven. He spent some time attempting to get back in shape since he couldn't work at the hospital, jogging a couple of times a week and trying to cajole some of his friends into playing some pick-up Quidditch. In June, an owl he didn't recognize brought a brown paper wrapped parcel, addressed to Xavier and covered with shiny purple doodles.

"Oooh! That must be from Seph!" he yelped gleefully as the item crashed onto the table, spilling his pumpkin juice.

Ron knew that the two distantly related cousins —or something —had been corresponding, but he wasn't sure what they were writing about. "What is it?" he asked, cleaning up the mess with a spell, still not working with full ambric power, but getting ever closer.

"It's a book on Elvish grammar," he enthused, ripping off the paper.

Ron could feel his eyebrows rising as Xavier began flipping through the pages, nodding his head and grinning wildly. "You're still really into that stuff, huh?" he asked as Xavier absent-mindedly finished his toast, brushing crumbs onto the floor and shoving the crusts into his mouth. Moments later, he'd quickly taken in his plate to Draco who was waiting for the kettle to boil, then dashed away with his book.

"Don't forget to write her a thank you note!" Draco demanded to the boy's disappearing back. "Obsessed. Really," he said to Ron, a note of his former displeasure edging his voice.

"Not harmful," Ron reminded him with a shrug. "He's still practising his archery, too. And I've found the oddest books in his room; an old Arithmancy text from goodness knows where, and several histories, including one on Hogwarts."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Percy would be so proud."

As spring eased into summer, Ron noticed that the plants in the Manor as well as the garden and flowerbeds that he and Xavier had planted were noticeably more lush than he expected. One evening as he made a cooling-off lap around part of the lawn, he saw Xavier squatting near a patch of lupine, looking all the world as though he were talking to them. Moderating his pace from a jog to a fast walk, he made his way over, stopping and doing some stretching once he was within Xavier's line of view.

"Whatcha doing?"

"Oh! Hi! I'm, well, I've noticed that these flowers like it if I talk about moonlight and the beginning time of the Elves before there was a sun in the sky. Don't tell Draco, though," he said conspiriatorialy. "I know he thinks it's stupid that I've been learning it. But it sounds so pretty. Seph and I can even write some in the language."

Given Xavier's zeal and obvious pride in his own efforts, Ron couldn't find the heart to say anything negative. "That's pretty brilliant, Xave. Y'know, do you mind if I tell Neville that you're doing so well with the plants? He might want you to help out in his greenhouse or even his labs, if you think you'd like that."

Xavier beamed. "Wicked," he said, his demeanour reminding Ron distressingly of George.

It was on July 27th, however, when things really got off- kilter. Ron was at Draco's desk, drinking an ale and going through the St. Mungo's Internship Programme Manual which he'd written a couple of years before. He was updating it with the tidbits and new regulations that had come up as the programme had matured, when he heard his name being yelled from the nearby fireplace.

"Ron! Get your Squibby arse over here!"

Ron grumbled at the euphemism; George had been using it ever since he'd first been admitted for his then-unexplained illness, even though Raven declared he'd be fit to return within a week. He crouched down in front of the green flames, wondering sourly why George was bothering him. Xave was over at George's shop helping out, though given how often he came home looking slightly green for a little while, he suspected that George was using him more as an additional test subject than anything else. Xavier was going to turn ten the next day, which was part of the reason to have him out and over with his uncle so Ron and Draco could get the backyard ready for the party they were hosting.

"What is it?" Ron asked, cross. He had dozens of things to do, and he really hoped that Xavier was behaving himself; George was pretty hard to cheese off, unless you were Draco.

"Look at this!" Xavier said excitedly, jumping up and down so that his head sprang back and forth in the flames, flapping a letter at him. "It's from Hogwarts!"

"Hogwarts?!" Ron said, utterly baffled. "Who's writing you from there? Has Neville been talking with Sprout about you?"

"I'm going! In September!" he squawked, his grin so wide Ron thought that his face must hurt.

"That can't be right," Ron insisted, his mind reeling. "You're turning ten. Not eleven. Nobody goes when they're ten."

"Apparently on rare occasion they make exceptions," George's voice sounded a bit distantly behind Xavier. "I've checked the letter and believe me—it's not been forged. Signed by McGonagall. It's legit. Poor bastard, going to school a year early."

"Wait'll I tell everybody at my birthday party tomorrow!" Xavier went on. "Is Draco about? I want to tell him, too!"

"No, he's barricaded in his bakery. Making a twenty-five layer cake for _somebody_ who asked for a bit much in the birthday cake realm," Ron said without any malice. He knew that Draco really wasn't doing twenty-five different layers, but he was sure it would be towering and absolutely mouthwatering.

"Oh." Xavier's face fell. "Well, go tell him, please? I want him to know NOW!"

"Okay. Hey—can you send the letter here?"

"NO!" he exclaimed, clutching it down out of sight of the fire. "I'm not going to let it go. Ever."

Ron let out a deep sigh. "I understand. I was pretty excited when I got mine as well. Keep it in a safe place, and be sure you're helping George, not being a nuisance, or you'll be back here faster than you can say Wheezes."

"I'll be good!" Xavier promised before vanishing from the fireplace.

George's face reappeared. "Cor," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Can you believe that? Poor bugger is going to school in a little over a month. Ron, are you okay?"

"Yeah, just overwhelmed with shite to do," Ron said, gesturing vaguely and hoping he sounded convincing. "Look, thanks for having him there. Just have him come back by floo before six, right?"

"Sure. Bye."

The fireplace fell silent and Ron collapsed onto his arse with a thump. He wasn't ready for Xavier to go to school. Xave was a marvelous, talented, genuinely brilliant child with a warm heart and open mind. He'd be ripped apart by the other Houses, for sure; he was na•ve and wore his feelings on his bloody sleeve and was already kind of poncey even if he did still have a crush on Seph and Ron wanted to tear out his own hair and bash in the face of the first Slytherin who tried to do Xavier wrong. Because no matter what Draco said, Ron knew in the deepest recesses of his heart that Xavier would be a Gryffindor. It was a given, just like the red hair on his head and the impetuosity in his spirit.

"Guess there's an extensive trip to Diagon Alley in the near future," he said under his breath, getting to his feet. He walked to the desk, shook the mostly empty ale bottle, and wandered down the corridor to the kitchen. He took a new beer out of the cold box and stepped over to a wall panel with a small button that had an image on an ear on it. George really was a genius, having installed a system that allowed one to talk into a speaker-type thing using the amplification properties behind his and Fred's Extendable Ear product and to have the person speak back, all from different rooms in the house. There were Ear Trumpets set up in the kitchen, Draco's in-house bakery, the pool, Xavier's room, Severus' room, out in the broom shed and a variety of other strategic locations. Ron tapped the button with a faint cake on it until it glowed luminous scarlet. He stood for a moment, taking a long pull off of his beer, faintly shocked at his rampantly stampeding emotions. The news was just so sudden, and he was caught unawares and unprepared. He wasn't ready for Xavier to be at Hogwarts; the thought of him going, experiencing a whole new stretch of time in the place where he and Draco had fought and hated each other for so many years, where Ron had grown into a young man…

"What?" Draco's preoccupied voice shot out from the Ear Trumpet.

"I've got something to tell you."

* * * * *

Xavier stood off in a cluster of some other first-year students he already knew, yakking a mile a minute. Molly and Arthur hovered nearby, Molly trying to dab surreptitiously at her eyes. Ron didn't recognise many of the other parents, as they were older than he and Draco, though some seemed familiar. Draco was conspicuously sombre, lost in his own thoughts yet keeping a wary eye out for the new other pureblood Slytherin families he suspected would make their appearance. Ron's stomach churned with anxiety for Xavier, which was ridiculous since he was completely at ease.

"What're you thinking?" Draco asked quietly, scooting closer to be next to him. Ron knew that Draco wasn't at all ashamed that they were together and handfasted, but especially in crowds like this, he kept his physical affection to a minimum.

"That I was a fucking mess when I went off to Hogwarts for the first time, but he seems just great." Ron rubbed at his nose before playing with the hair of his newly growing goatee. "How crazy that I met Harry for the first time that day. Just wonder if his life will turn inside-out like that, or be more conventional."

"We're his parents," Draco said, arching an eyebrow and giving Ron a compassionate look that reassured Ron more than any words he could have said. "He'll never be conventional."

The whistle for the train blew. Xavier rushed over to give good-bye hugs to his grandparents, and then trudged more slowly over to Ron and Draco.

"I'll write after the Feast," he promised, his smile more subdued than moments before. He looked at Draco and then across to Ron. "I'm gonna miss you two, like crazy. But I'll be okay. I'll write, I will. Honest."

"You'd better, or you'll be getting Howlers from me on a regular basis," Ron threatened.

"No letters, no quadruple-chocolate cookies," Draco added.

Xavier's usual impish grin settled on his sunburned face. "I promise, really!!" He opened his arms and Ron leaned over, enfolding him in a crushing hug.

"Do us proud," Ron said into Xavier's hair. "Love you. I'll miss you terribly."

He stood up, and watched as Draco bid his goodbyes, slipping a small tin into Xavier's hand as the whistle sounded again.

"Bye! See you at Christmas!" Xavier shouted over his shoulder as he tore off to join the last few stragglers getting on the train.

Ron watched the train pull away, feeling a bruising ache lodge somewhere in his heart. "I need a drink," he mumbled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I'll join you," Draco replied, his voice stern.

"I'm not aiming to get arsed," Ron insisted as his parents came over.

They exchanged niceties with his mum and dad until they took the hint and left, Molly giving Ron a soft pat on his shoulder. Ron followed Draco back through the barrier into King's Cross and from there they found an Apparition point to get to the Belligerent Badger. Once ensconced in a booth with a shot of Bitter Banshee and pint, he finally relaxed, wiping at his eyes as the overwhelming emotions caught up with him.

"What was in the tin?" he asked after he blew his nose, regaining his composure.

"Snapping gingers. Wanted to have something that would remind him of Percy."

Ron gazed at his lover, brought up short by his surprising empathy and perceptiveness. Yeah, they definitely still had their rows, and Draco was unbearable to be around when under deadlines—Ron was no better. Through it, though, they made things work, and most of their glassware hadn't suffered Ron's wrath.

"Here's to you," Ron said, toasting Draco.

"To us."

They drank for a while, letting the burbling ambiance of the pub wash around them until at last Draco tilted his head and gave Ron a calculated look.

"Think we'll survive his sorting results?"

Ron snorted. "As long as he's in Gryffindor. No worries. Bound to happen."

Draco quirked his lips to the side, a glint in his eye. "He looks awfully good in green."

**..:~:..**


End file.
